My Girl is Not an Airhead
by stamper55555
Summary: "If I'd been thinking, if I'd been a good friend, I would have been the one to push Frida out of the way. Or maybe, I could have just grabbed Em, kept her with me. But I couldn't move." Airhead from Chris's POV. Some scenes from the book, others are mine.
1. Dinosaur Stickers?

"Emerson Watts," my first period public speaking teacher called.

Through my already drooping eyelids (let's see you stay awake through such a boring class that early in the morning!) I saw her head pop up from where she'd been dozing on her desk.

"Here," she answered.

I winced; he hadn't been calling roll. I winced again when I saw Whitney Robertson (queen of the Walking Dead) notice her checking for drool. _Poor Em._

"Loser," Whitney hissed from her seat.

I gritted my teeth. I've long gotten used to the Walking Dead's treatment of Em and me. But I still hated it.

Em made a comeback of some sort, but I don't know what it was. She mouthed it, and I couldn't see her face from where I sat, directly behind her (unfortunately).

I could, however, see Whitney's response: _You wish._ Hmm… Now I was intrigued.

But I couldn't ask her, because Mr. Greer yawned and said, "Em, I wasn't calling roll. It's time for you to give the class your two-minute persuasive oral piece. We're going in reverse alphabetical order, remember?"

Again, I thought, _Poor Em._

She got up from her seat and slowly walked to the front of the room. When she turned around, she looked sick. I tried to look encouraging, but I was so tired…

"All right, Emerson. You've got two minutes," Mr. Greer said, looking at his watch. "And… go." He turned on the stupid oven timer he uses.

"Females make up thirty-nine percent…"

I dozed off. I couldn't help it; it was so early! A few parts made it through the fog of sleep into my brain, though:

"…A study…percentage of computer degrees…decreasing over time…educational system…" I think I heard someone snoring. I remember wondering why Mr. Greer didn't do something about that…

"…short-shorts…Lara Croft from Tomb Raider…" Huh? Wake up, Chris; that sounds interesting! "glow in the dark dinosaur stickers…"

The next thing I knew, the oven timer was going off.

"Thank you, Em," Mr. Greer yawned. That's encouraging. Even the teachers aren't fully awake during class. "That was very persuasive."

"No, Mr. Greer," she said, with a huge – and fake – smile. "Thank _you._"

I heard her come back to her seat (my eyes had closed again). Then Mr. Greer started talking again.

"Now, who do we have next? Oh, yes. Whitney Robertson? You're up."

I could hear the smile on his face. Ugh. I almost started gagging. I knew that if I actually had to listen to her for two minutes, I might actually lose my breakfast. SO I let myself fall into a real sleep. I hate Whitney Robertson, and all of her cronies. I didn't even hear the timer ding when she was done. It wasn't until the bell rang to signal the end of class that I opened my eyes.

I heard Lindsey Jacobs (Walking Dead crony #1) say to Em, "You're just jealous."

Uh… What had I missed?

"Totally," Whitney agreed. "And you got one thing right, Em. No matter how hard you try, you're never going to look _this_ good."

They left then, laughing like that snub had been the funniest thing in the world, before I could tell them how wrong they were. Em was _beautiful_. At least, she was to me. But maybe it was just as well. I mean, Em and I were best friends. She didn't think of me as anything more.

"You can bring up those points next week if you want, Em, when we do rebuttal persuasive pieces," Mr. Greer offered.

If my brain had been functioning properly, I would have laughed at the very sarcastic way she said, "Thanks, Mr. Greer." Then she turned to me. "Thanks to you, too. You were a big help back there."

I rubbed my eyes. "Dude, I heard every word you said," I lied.

"Oh, really?" she asked with raised eyebrows. Crap_. _That's why you don't try to lie to your best friend. "What was my assigned topic again?"

"Um…I'm not sure." This was another lie. I knew her topic was females in the computer industry. I was just teasing her. "But I know it had something to do with short-shorts. And glow-in-the-dark dinosaur stickers."

She shook her head, obviously not finding my joke funny, and left me there, blinking tiredly after her.


	2. The Last Afternoon

**A/N:** Hi! This is my first Airhead fanfic, and I am very excited to write it. I love writing from others' POVs, and I can't even tell you how many times I've read the Airhead series. I plan to write all three books from his POV. I know this chapter is really short, but I just wanted to include some stuff before the grand opening. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>I got home from school that day, fully planning on taking a nap during the time I usually saved for homework (what? It was Friday; I had two more days to get it done).<p>

I unlocked the door and walked into the very manly – and equally messy – apartment that I share with the Commander (my father). Our maid only comes every two weeks, and we don't do much straightening up in between. I couldn't help but wonder, for about the millionth time, how different home would be if my parents had never divorced, or if I'd chosen to live with my mom like my sister Hannah did. I mean, I love my dad, and I couldn't imagine my life without Em, but…

Well, the Commander's apartment couldn't really be described as "homey." I mean, he was hardly home, and when he was, it was too eat, sleep, or read. Seriously, that's it.

Most of the space was taken up by huge pieces of old English leather furniture, passed down to us through the generations from my great-great-grandfather, or something. Every open surface (from coffee tables, to sofas, to the rest of the floor) was covered by stacks and stacks of newspapers from around the world (my dad likes to know what's happening. He reads the internet, too. Daily).

I waded through the papers to get to my room, and turned on the computer. It was a habit, I always had it on when I was home. I checked my e-mail, but there was nothing urgent in my inbox. So I did what I'd gone in there to do, anyway. I slept.

I woke up about an hour after drifting off to my phone ringing. Somewhat groggy, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Chris! What took you so long? I sent you an e-mail about twenty minutes ago, but you never got back to me."

"Sorry about that," I said, grinning guiltily even though I knew she couldn't see me. "I was sleeping."  
>"Oh. Well, since you're well rested…"<p>

"What?" I asked cautiously. Who knew what she wanted me to do?

"My mom is making me go with Frida to the Stark Megastore grand opening, to make sure Frida's okay."

_"I'd be fine!"_ I heard Frida yell in the background. Clearly, she wasn't happy about these arrangements.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you'd come with me? I mean, I know we were against it from the start, but they have some pretty good deals on electronics…"

"Sure, I'll come. When?"

"Um, we could meet in the lobby at seven. Is that okay?"

I looked at my watch, it was about four thirty. "Sure. You want to come up here when you get back? I want to show you something. Plus, there's a new special on the Discovery channel tonight."

"Sure! Sounds good; see you then."

"Bye, Em."

After I hung up, I decided to log onto my _Journeyquest _account. I couldn't wait to show her what I'd found! Finally, finally, I'd gotten past the Dragons of Pith. We'd tried countless times, and only got our characters killed for our troubles. I don't even know what made me think of the Runes, but I'm glad I did!

I played _Journeyquest _until it was time to go meet Em and Frida. I made it up to level 48. I couldn't wait to tell Em later that night!

I'd had no clue that it would be the last afternoon of life as I knew it.


	3. As One Store Opens

**A/N:** Sorry, it's been a little longer than I'd hoped. Let me just say, Senior Term Paper sucks. Especially when it's on James Joyce's _A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man._ Especially when you're a procrastinator, and you have a huge meltdown the day before it's due because you're _sure_ you're going to fail, but you don't know how to make it better, and you still need to finish, and you start bawling. Then you finally get it done, take a shower, and go to bed, and you wake up the next morning with puffy eyes, a killer headache, and hair that you have to put back because it looks so bad because you went to bed with it wet the night before. To make matters worse, it's due on Senior Skip Day (although with your strict parents, they'd never let you stay home, even when it would give you an extra two days to get your paper done and perfect) and you have a physics test. Your headache persists, so you go home after lunch and sleep for about four hours. That's about when I decided to work on this to destress.

So, sorry again, both for making you wait, and for ranting like this. It's just been one of those days.

* * *

><p>The Stark Megastore grand opening can be described in one word: obnoxious. There were obnoxious girls running around, freaking out about some new singer guy; obnoxiously loud music, coming from the new singer guy; and obnoxious gimmicks to get people to come back.<p>

Oh, yeah, and the obnoxious protesters, shooting paintballs at plasma screens depicting Nikki Howard, some model who works for Stark. She was _everywhere._ I mean, I really could see their point. I missed the good, cheap, fresh vegetables from Mama's, too. But did you see me going around with a paintball gun, "trying to do something for the greater good" while actually just embarrassing myself? No.

But I stayed anyway, for Em. And for those Stark cookies. They were awesome. I stuffed as many as I could into my pockets to eat later (the Commander doesn't approve of junk food).

Em seemed to forget all about me, though, when she heard that British guy sing. She probably didn't think I saw her, but I did. She was definitely bouncing to the beat. I mean, I guess the music wasn't bad, necessarily. But definitely different from the rock that I listen to. And I saw the way she looked at him. But, really, what could I have said? She wasn't my girlfriend, just my friend (well, "just friends" is pushing it a bit, in my case).

And it wasn't like she was drooling over the guy like Frida was, with her cell phone out and ready to take low-quality pictures to send to her equally low-quality, Walking Dead friends.

In any case, that look went away when the three of us got in line to get him to sign Frida's CD. God, it was awful! It seemed like there were millions of Frida's swarming around us, all wearing the same types of clothes, all screaming, all making me wonder why I was there in the first place. Then I realized that, screaming aside, it reminded me of the Walking Dead at school. Well, _that _was a fun thought, let me tell you, that I was somewhere as torturous as school on a Friday night… _not_.

"He's not looking at you," Em told Frida.

She didn't pay any attention to the truth of her sister's words. "Yes, he is." She waved to the guy. "He's looking right at me!"

"No," I argued. "He's looking at _her._" I pointed to one of the plasma screens that hadn't been shot yet, depicting Nikki Howard in some kind of fancy dress and absolutely ridiculous shoes. "He's probably trying to see if she's got anything on under there." It may have sounded like a joke, but, if I'm being honest, I just wanted Em to stop _looking _at him like that!

"Gabriel doesn't think of women as sex objects," Frida informed me, not even bothering to look. "I know. I read it in his interview with _CosmoGIRL! _He respects women with brains."

Yeah. Sure. First of all, where is the proof that Nikki Howard even had a brain? Second, even _Gabriel _isn't perfect enough to not care about how a girl looks.

Em agreed with me, apparently, if the way she choked on her Stark brand soda was any indication.

"She does!" Frida insisted. "What other seventeen-year-old do you know who's gotten as many modeling and product endorsement contracts as Nikki has? And she started with nothing – _nothing._ Seriously, how could you not _know _that? Don't you people do anything but play that stupid video game?"

Okay, much as I may hate the guy, I was okay with the fact that his music was playing just then. It made it a little harder to hear Frida's rant. The noise didn't stop her from talking over it, though.

"Besides, you guys," she said as she took _another _picture of Gabriel. Seriously! What was the big deal? "Gabriel's deeply spiritual…and intellectual. Just like I am."

Em almost choked again. It was kind of funny, the sisterly argument.

"I _am_! Just because I'm not a math and science dork like _some _people…" Harsh, Frida. "Besides, Gabriel says what matters is the size of a woman's _heart_, not her bra."

Good one.

"Right," said Em, sarcastically. "I'm sure Gabriel'd rather be with a total dog than Nikki Howard."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Besides, I was glad that she wasn't _completely _caught up in the hype that Gabriel was the best thing in the world. Thank god.

Frida, however, wasn't laughing. She wasn't laughing at all.

"I'm not a total dog."

"Frida." Em gaped at her. "I didn't mean _you._"

But it was too late; the damage was done.

"Maybe you think of _yourself_ that way. But don't drag me down to your level, Em. At least I make an effort."

I wasn't enjoying the argument anymore. It was getting… well, kind of awkward for me.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Em demanded.

"Well, _look _at you."

Em looked down, and I did, too. _I _didn't see anything wrong with her jeans, hoodie, and Converse. It was what she always wore; it was _Em._ I wouldn't want her any other way.

Frida differed from my opinion, though.

"You look like a guy. I mean, maybe you have a figure, but it's not like anybody could ever tell, thanks to how baggy you wear your clothes. And have you ever even tried to do anything with your hair except throw it back in a scrunchie, which by the way is completely 2002? At least I _try_ to look nice."

Wow, Frida. Can you tell us how you really feel, next time?

I could tell by the look on Em's face that her sister's words had cut deep, but she didn't let that keep her from firing back.

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I was supposed to conform to some random standard of beauty dictated by some tween queen fashion model."

Do you see why Em is my best friend? I couldn't help but snort out a laugh at that. "Tween queen. Good one. Anyway," I said, though maybe I should have stopped speaking, "I think Em looks fine…"

Fine? I said she looked fine? Great compliment, Christopher. Oh, well. Maybe it's for the best. Although, if I'd known what was about to happen, I would have said something a hell of a lot better than she looked "fine"…

"…and besides, at least she's not some big plastic phony like _her_," I added, pointing at Nikki.

"_Yeah._" Em didn't seem too upset about my calling her just "fine." Thank god.

But Frida still didn't care what either of us had to say. She just kept defending her idol. "For your information, Nikki Howard has taken the fashion and beauty industry by storm. She's one of the youngest models ever to have done so. Nikki and her friends–"

Em rolled her eyes, and it was all I could do not to laugh again. "Oh, here we go. Another lesson on the F.O.N.s."

"What's an F.O.N.?" I asked.

"Friend of Nikki's," she explained. "According to last month's _CosmoGIRL!_ she runs with a whole posse of F.F.B.F.s."

"Wait… What's an F.F.B.F?" I was so confused. Why did she have to abbreviate?

"You know. People who are in the media all the time, but they're only Famous for Being Famous. They've never done anything to get famous – they don't actually have any talent? They're usually rich people's kids like Nikki's on again, off again boyfriend Brandon Stark" she switched her tone to mimic a news anchor "nineteen year old son of millionaire Stark Megastore owner, Robert Stark. Or celebutantes, like Tim Collins's seventeen-year-old daughter, Lulu. _The _Tim Collins. Who directed the _Journeyquest _movie."

I couldn't help but make a face. "And completely ruined it?"

"That'd be the one. Lulu's an F.O.N."

Frida put her hands on her hips and complained, "Why do you guys have to be so mean? It's like, everything fun, you guys look down on."

As I finished another bag of Stark brand cookies – they might be worth the lack of fresh produce in our neighborhood. The commander doesn't allow junk food, and if they make a habit of giving those things out for free, I'd practically live there, when I wasn't playing _Journeyquest _with Em, of course – I argued, "That's not true. We don't look down on _Journeyquest_. Well, the game. The movie freaking sucked."

"_Besides _that stupid computer game," Frida challenged.

"Music," Em said. I saw the way her gaze went, just for a second, to those speakers. "I like music."

"Oh, right." Frida rolled her eyes. "Name one popular musician you listen to. And don't name any of that horrible metal crap Christopher listens to, either."

Hello, Frida? I'm standing right here!  
>"One popular musician?" Em asked, an eyebrow raised. "Fine. How about…Tchaikovsky?"<p>

I cracked up. I couldn't help it. I wasn't even upset by the fact that she didn't stick up for my music taste…much. "Nice one. Mahler. He's good, too."

"Too dour," she argued. "_Beethoven._"

"That dude is rad," I agreed, raising my hand in a rocker's salute. "Beethoven rocks my world!"

"Oh, God," Frida complained, her head in her hands, obviously embarrassed.

"Come on, Free," Em said laughingly, elbowing her sister. "We're not _that_ embarrassing, are we?"

"Yes." Her answer was muffled by her hands. "You are. You really are. Don't you realize that you guys look down on everything normal people like? Like Nikki and her friends–"

That was when I saw Em's mouth drop open. I followed her gaze, and noticed that the very people Frida was talking about were _right there_, in the Stark Megastore, coming towards us.

"You're always going on about feminism, Em." Frida was still talking, completely oblivious to the fact that Nikki Howard and three F.O.N.s, plus a tiny ball of fur trying quite hard to get into Nikki's dress, were so close to her. "Well, do you really think Nikki would have gotten where she is today – the Face of Stark, currently one of the highest-earning models – if she weren't a feminist?"

"Uh" was all that Em seemed to be able to say. She was still staring at the group of famous people across the room.

"And I don't see how you can even call yourself a feminist, Em, when you are so totally mean to a member of your own sex. I mean, Nikki's just a girl, like you are."

Let me just point out, that is very untrue. Em is… Well, she's Em. But Nikki… Wow. I don't usually like the super-skinny, almost-anorexic looking types, who wear next to nothing. But it totally worked for Nikki. The blonde hair, the dress…

Okay, I'll admit it. I _might have _been staring. A little. But she was a _model._

Frida was still talking, but I wasn't listening. I was transfixed by the girl – woman – running through the store.

I did hear when she realized what we were looking at.

"Omigodomigodomigod," she all but screamed, fanning the tears out of her eyes with the hand that wasn't holding her cell phone. "Omigod, it's her. It's her. It's HER!"

When I looked – tore my eyes – away from Nikki, I happened to notice that the British singer guy was definitely not looking in the direction of Nikki's heart. And I didn't bother to keep it to myself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Free. That Gabriel guy may be sensitive and all of that. But he is _totally_ staring at her chest."

"Um, he wouldn't be the only one doing that," Em pointed out. It would have been hard to miss the disapproval in her voice, but was that… Was that _jealousy_ underneath of it? Interesting…

I could feel myself turning red, but I just _could not _look away. Did I mention she's a model?

"Omigod, you guys. Lulu Collins is with her. I have to get their autographs. I have to!" Frida was so excited, it was sickening.

"Frida. Uh, Frida? Frida?"

But it was too late. Great timing, too. She left the line just as we got to the front of it. Then it was Em who talked to him, instead of Frida. Perfect.

"Um…hi," Em said, turning her attention to Gabriel after realizing that he'd finally pried his gaze away from Nikki.

"Hi," the stupid singer said back, giving her a smile. You should have seen the look on Em's face. I almost puked.

Plus, she couldn't seem to stop _looking _at him. No, not just looking, gaping. I had to turn my gaze away before I actually _did_ throw up.

"What's your name, then?" I heard him ask. Do girls really like that stupid accent?

"Um. Em."

"Em?" I could hear that sickening smile in his voice. "Short for Emily?"

"Um. No…"

"Do you have a CD you'd like me to sign?"

"Hold on. My sister…" She trailed off, turning around to look for Frida, running right into me. And that's when I saw it.

"Uh, Em, look…"

Frida still hadn't made it to Nikki, but she was getting close. That's not what I was so worried about, though. One of the ELF guys who'd gotten past security opened up his trench coat to reveal a paintball gun. I noticed one of the security guys who saw it, too, and he grabbed Nikki to get her out of the way. He shot the plasma screen closest to him – and Frida – with a glob of yellow paint that splattered across Nikki's – the one on the plasma screen – chest. This time, though, instead of it just being a harmless act of vandalism, the force of the paintball had an actual impact on the screen.

A wire popped. Then a second one.

And Frida – my best friend's little sister – was right underneath it.

"Frida! Move!" Em shouted, worried about her sister.

If I'd been thinking, if I'd been a good friend, I would have been the one to push Frida out of the way. Or maybe, I could have just grabbed Em, kept her with me.

But I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by what I knew I'd be about to witness.

Not Em. She ran forward and shoved Frida to safety.

Right as the last wire popped, and the plasma screen came loose.


	4. Worst Night of My Life

**A/N: **Just a warning: this one's pretty sad. Actually, a lot of them from here on will be sad. I'm not sure how great I am at writing about such sad topics, so reviews of this chapter especially would be much appreciated!

* * *

><p>In movies, it would have been in slow motion, the plasma screen falling painfully slowly through the air. In real life, you learn that full speed is much worse. Then, you have no time at all to save the one you love. She was a crushed, bloody mess in less than three seconds.<p>

People were screaming. I heard Frida, louder and more frantic than the rest, but I couldn't make my legs take me to her, so that I could hug her into me to keep her from looking at the scene in front of us that neither of us could ever unsee.

"Em! Em!" I heard a masculine voice shouting, screaming hysterically. It was only after I felt the pain in my throat that I realized that voice was mine.

"Nikki! Nikki!" I heard more screaming, not too far away. That snapped me out of my stupor. Suddenly, I was angry. I was _furious. _First of all, why wasn't the plasma secured better? Why wasn't security doing a better job at keeping ELF from killing my best friend? And who the hell cared about Nikki Howard anyway!

I stumbled over to where Em lay. She looked…not good. I tried to turn my anger into strength, but my hands were shaking too hard to get a good grip on the screen to get it off of her.

When the paramedics finally arrived, I watched them load her onto a stretcher and walk her out. It was all I could do not to go after them, throw myself into the back of the ambulance, make sure she was still alive.

Then I saw Frida, still screaming and sobbing.

"Chris-Chris-Christopher, she-she-she's…"

I pulled her into my arms, like I'd never gotten to do for Em, and squeezed her tightly. "It's okay, Free. It's gonna be okay." I had no idea whether or not I was lying, but I couldn't stand to see her crying like that, She looked so much like her sister…

But I had to be strong for her. After what she'd just seen, she needed someone to reassure her.

My emotions were switched off when I asked for her phone. I called her parents, told them what had happened. It killed me to hear Em's mom scream when I recounted the event to her. Em's dad had taken the phone then and told me they'd be right over to pick up Frida on their way to the hospital.

I hung up and slipped the phone back into Frida's pocket. Her hands were shaking too much for her to have gripped it. Then I took her hand and took her to the front of the store, where she sobbed into my jacket until her parents came.

Then I was alone. Alone, and numb. I don't know how long I just stood there, in front of the Stark Megastore. I wasn't hearing the horns and sirens, I wasn't seeing the long stream of cars or the people milling along the sidewalk in front of me, I didn't notice when the lights of the store were turned off behind me.

All I could see was that plasma screen falling. Now that it had already happened in real time, my mind slowed it down to that agonizing speed, drawing it out. Each wire, individually coming free. The screen falling, inch by inch, toward Em's head. It stayed on the image of her broken body for a long time before replaying it again.

At one point, I turned away from the busy part of the sidewalk and threw up all of the Stark cookies and Stark cola I'd consumed that night in the dark, empty section of concrete in front of the store. As I dragged my shaking sleeve across my mouth afterwards, I realized that there were hot tears running down my cheeks.

I never cry. Not through the divorce, not when I had to choose between my mom and my dad, not when I had to say goodbye to my mom and my sister. But this was different. I'd seen my best friend practically killed right in front of me. Just thinking that word made me get sick all over again.

This time, though, I checked the time on my watch after wiping my mouth. Two o'clock in the morning. I didn't care, but I knew the Commander must have been worried.

I set off for home, stumbling the whole way, surprised when I made it without having to make another stop.

When I got to the apartment, my dad was there, his arms open for me. He'd seen the news. I collapsed into them, feeling like a little boy.

"Shh, Chris, it's okay. She might pull through."

But he hadn't seen her. I knew there was no chance.

That knowledge didn't keep back cry the next morning, when I saw the front page of the newspaper.

I hadn't realized that I'd been holding onto hope. Hope that it had all been just a dream, hope that they'd found some way to save her…

It hadn't been a dream. They hadn't saved her. Emerson Watts was dead.

* * *

><p>Well? Am I okay at this kind of thing, or not? How could I do better? Constructive criticisms are always welcome!<p> 


	5. Dead

**A/N: I know it's short, and the last two were pretty short, too, but this is pretty heavy stuff. It's not easy for me to write a lot of it at one time. It's depressing. But I hope that I pulled it off. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Dead.<p>

Gone.

Forever.

This wasn't _Journeyquest._

There were no more extra lives. There was no "Oops, let's try that again"s.

Em Watts was dead.

I was in shock. Those first few days, I did nothing. I didn't eat; I didn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it happen again and again. My dad tried to make me eat, but it just came right back up. He didn't try again.

_My best friend was dead._

He came into my room on Monday morning to tell me her memorial service would be on Wednesday.

On Monday night, I heard him talking to my mom on the phone. They _never _talked to each other. Not since the divorce. I wasn't really listening, but I heard him say that maybe I should try living with her, out of the city, away from the memories. That brought me out of my numbness.

How could I leave? That city, that school, that apartment building were the only connections to Em that I had left. I couldn't just make the decision to forget about her; I couldn't just leave her behind.

_She left you behind first, _my mind told me. I ignored it.

Tuesday morning, I stayed home from school again, but I made myself get out of bed. It wasn't like I'd been doing much sleeping anyway. I forced a piece of toast down my throat, and to my surprise it stayed there.

My dad hadn't gone to work either; I knew he'd stayed home again to make sure I was okay. I wasn't, but I was better than I'd been the day before. As the hours went by, I watched the relief wash over his face.

Out of habit, when I reached my room I woke up my computer. I hadn't turned it off since I left for the store. The screen still said, _Congratulations! You've reached Level 48!_ I almost lost my toast.

I quickly closed that window, and checked my e-mail. My eyes went directly to the e-mail from Em, now towards the bottom of the screen. After a second's hesitation, I opened it.

_Hey, Chris! Mom's making me take Frida to the Stark Megastore's opening tonight. I heard they have this cool handheld game system for under $100! Want to check it out?—Em_

If I'd said I was busy and asked to go a little later, if I'd told her what I'd found on _Journeyquest _and she'd come over here instead of to the store, if–

"Chris?" My dad was knocking on my door. I hadn't realized I'd shut it.

"Come in."

He saw me at my computer, briefly glanced at the sender, and sighed. "Chris, what are you doing to yourself?" he asked, putting a hand on my elbow and helping me up. He walked me to my bed and sat me down again, standing in front of me, blocking my view of the computer.

"I know you don't want to talk about it – and I don't blame you – but her memorial service is tomorrow, Chris. And–" He looked at me, though I'm sure my face was expressionless, to gauge my reaction. "And I think you should cut your hair. It seems more…"

I let him trail off. He was probably right. It was almost past my shoulders now. I'd only been growing it out to see how long it could get before I drove The Commander insane. Em and I had a bet going. She only had a few inches left until she lost. I said down to the waist. There was really no point now, anyway. The bet was off. Making my dad crazy didn't matter anymore. And it _would _be more respectful.

"Okay."

He looked at me, a little surprised. "Okay?" He'd been telling me for a long time now that it was too long, that I needed to cut it, that he'd do it himself while I slept. I took it for what it was, an empty threat, and just left it to grow. I couldn't blame him for not believing that I'd just give up so easily. But it seemed so stupid now.

"Yeah. I'll get it cut, Dad. Whatever you want."

His brow furrowed with worry, but he didn't say anything else. He just nodded and left me alone, closing the door again behind him.

I stood up and went back to my computer. I couldn't help it; I was _drawn_ to that e-mail. The last one she'd sent me; I would never get another one. After a long time staring at her words, I went back to my inbox. Fighting the urge to go to older e-mails from Em – though it was hard – I opened an e-mail I'd gotten from Hannah. She'd heard what happened, and had sent me about five messages, all along the same lines:

_Christopher, I heard about Em. Mom told me, and I saw in the paper… Are you okay? Mom said you might have to come live here with us. I know she was your best friend, but are you that upset? Please get back to me. I'm worried. –Hannah_

I sighed. Her words got more worried as they progressed. I knew that any minute she'd be calling here and demanding to speak to me. So I opened up a new message and started typing.

_I'll be fine. Relax. I'm not moving. I'm staying here. I can't leave Dad; you know that. And she was so much more than my best friend – _I deleted that part. I didn't need her feeling any more sorry for me than she already was – _Don't be too worried if I take a while to reply. I'll be okay. _

It was a lie, a lie I hoped she'd believe.

Because I didn't see how I could ever be okay again.

_Emerson Watts was dead._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Reviews, as always, are welcome!**


	6. A Memorial and Memories

**A/N: **Before you read the next chapter, I just want to thank Zoe Anderson for the kick in the pants she gave me. Without her PMing me, I don't know when I would have gotten this written. Thanks!

* * *

><p>The memorial was ten times harder than I thought it would be.<p>

It was even more final than hearing on the news that my best friend was dead. There were so many times when I wished I hadn't cut my hair, so that I could let it fall in front of my face. I didn't want to see what was right in front of me: to see the pictures of her on display, surrounded by flowers in one last goodbye; to see the looks on her family's faces (so sad, like their entire world had been ripped apart, and, which confused me, an expression of impatience); hearing the sobs (some of them my own) and the priest's words… I don't know how I made it through the whole service.

But I did, and as soon as it was over I left. I couldn't bear to hear anyone tell me how sorry they are, because no one – except _maybe_ her family – is sorrier than I am.

Looking back now, I guess I should have given my condolences to her family, maybe asked for one of those pictures of her. But all I wanted to do was get out of there. I didn't even wait for my dad. I just walked out of that church, away from all of the tears (okay, most of them).

Plus, I wouldn't have been able to speak calmly. I was furious at them. How could they _cremate_ her? Stick her in an incinerator until there's nothing left but ash? I'm an AP student. I understand that all living things are subject to decomposition. Really, I get it. But how could they speed it up like that? They just erased her body instead of laying it to rest. I would have gone to her gravesite every day if they'd buried her. But they hadn't. She was probably in an urn on a shelf in their apartment, and I didn't have a reason to go down there anymore.

Before the accident, her apartment was like my second home, and my apartment was hers. After school we'd usually stop by her place to start our homework and have something to eat, and then we'd convince her mom that homework was finished (when that generally wasn't the truth) before going up to my apartment for a few hours of Journeyquest or a new surgery show on the Discovery Channel. Even after she went home, we'd still keep playing, or e-mailing.

Somehow, I found myself in Central Park. And the memories just kept flowing.

I saw the day we met, when I was moving into the building and she was snooping through my video games with this impressed look on her face. I saw each and every time we reached a new level in Journeyquest; we'd always celebrate with a high five (now I wish it was something more) before we continued playing. I saw her at lunch at school, giving me the extra cookie she'd brought because the Commander would never have such a thing in our apartment, and gagging at the stench of her tuna salad as she pushed it to the middle of the table.

I had to sit down; I sank onto the first bench I came to before I fell back into the overload of images.

She was laughing at me, and with me. She was offering new ideas to get us more points. She was complaining about the unfairness of our physical education system. She was throwing an insult at the Walking Dead.

I sat there for a while, until the sun had long since set and I knew that I should be going; everyone knows what goes on in Central Park at night. But I was enjoying the memories too much. For the first time since her death, my mind was allowing me to remember her the way I wanted to, not the way it killed me to. I could make myself remember whatever I wanted to about her; I no longer had to watch That Moment over and over again. I had control over my mind again and, I had to admit – if only to myself – I felt a little better.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, I was listening to Brad Paisley's "New Favorite Memory" and it's a really cute love song, so my chapter kind of ran away from me into a cute flow of memories. But I don't think it's too out there, because he'd been at a memorial, it's only natural that he starts remembering something other than The Accident. And yes, he's feeling a little better... But next chapter he's going back to school. Soon we'll be seeing Supervillain Christopher... I can't wait!


End file.
